


B-Sides

by cat_77



Category: Fringe
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-21
Updated: 2011-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-24 20:31:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ours is but one reality.  Every action, every choice, creates an infinite road of possibilities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	B-Sides

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Fringe Mini-Bang Challenge. Huge thanks go out to Threnodyjones for both art and beta duties. Her awesome artwork can be found [here](http://pics.livejournal.com/cat_77/pic/000df3w5) and [here](http://pics.livejournal.com/cat_77/pic/000dg30t).
> 
> Spoilers for “6:02 AM EST” and it is an AU from that point forward.

Olivia was almost getting used to the dark by now. The Secretary visited often and would turn on the light in her cell while he gave her various updates that may or may not have been within her clearance level to know, but he pushed the button again as he left, leaving her in darkness – both figuratively and literally – until his next return.

She knew she should be grateful that she at least had the minimal light from the hallway. Most prisoners were kept in full quarantine with the shield down to both protect the glass and black out the smallest slivers of light, but her “unique position” as the Secretary had called it provided her with what amounted to a few luxuries. She could see who was coming and going, was provided meals worthy of the Fringe Division cafeteria, and had even been allowed to bathe with minimal supervision. It wasn’t freedom, but it was the best she could hope for under the circumstances.

It was the circumstances that concerned her. She was locked away while a madman attempted to destroy an entire universe in hopes of saving his own. While she had a vested interest in the universe he wished to save, what with it being the one she and her son were currently living in, she couldn’t help but question why the complete and utter destruction of the other was needed just for this one to exist.

She had been there, seen how well off they were in comparison to this one. Yes, their technology was a few decades behind, but they had never had to watch a rift tear a town apart, never had to ignore entire swaths of maps trying to plot a route, never needed to use the Amber to freeze people in an eternity of death throes. They were still whole, or at least far closer to it than her own universe, and she just could not choose to destroy that only so that a broken world could survive.

Then of course there was the matter of Peter. The father of her child and the son of the man who wanted to destroy it all. Yes, he belonged here, but he made his choice out of love if not loyalty. He chose to return to the man who was willing to personally sacrifice everything to save him instead of staying with a man who wanted others to sacrifice to make up for what he once lost. At the time, she did not understand why he would do so. Now, she had a much better idea as to the true face of his “father” and his version of love.

She wondered if her opinion on this matter had anything to do with the fact she was currently locked away with nothing to do except over-thing and over-analyze everything that had happened and how different things might have turned out with just a few tweaks of fate.

Of course, she was purposely ignoring her own wants. She wanted Peter. She wanted Peter with Henry and with her and to have the stereotypical picture book family no one really had any more. Part of her did not even care what universe they ended up in as long as they were together. Part of her almost hoped it was the universe she visited with its underlying sense of hope. Most of her knew it was probably never going to happen, especially given the way she had betrayed him and the look of utter disgust he had offered her when he discovered who she really was.

Movement at the end of the hallway distracted her from thoughts she knew she would have plenty of time to cycle through again later. It was the Secretary, and he was not alone.

Her heart caught in her throat as she took in the little blue bundle that he carried. Had he decided to take Henry away from her after all? Did he decide that his grandson was safer with him and everything that he could provide than with a woman who dared to question him? She bit her lip and waited, trying to keep her hands from twitching at her sides.

The light in her cell turned on and she looked up expectantly, not even trying to pretend that she had not seen them approach. The Secretary turned the child in his arms so he faced outward, confirming that yes, it was her son. “I thought a mother-son visit was in order,” the Secretary told her.

She stood and walked on shaky legs over to the glass. She tapped to get his attention, not knowing if the speaker was turned on to transmit both ways yet, let alone if Henry was cognizant enough yet to recognize who she was. She pressed her hand against the cool glass and imagined she could feel his sleep-warmed skin and the way his tiny little fingers would wrap around her own. “Is he okay?” she asked, not wanting to look away.

“He’s fine,” the Secretary assured her with the same unassuming smile she was quickly learning not to trust. “The nanny reports he is eating well, though his sleep schedule is changing slightly.” He looked almost wistful as he added, “I just remember how much I missed my little boy when I used to work long hours in the lab and decided I could not deny you such a simple thing.”

She would have argued that her situation was far different than a few late hours, but restrained herself and managed a simple, “Thank you,” instead.

The Secretary continued to hold Henry, and she knew well enough to figure out it was something she herself was to be denied, at least for now. Another subtle punishment, no doubt, for daring to go against his decisions.

He must have seen something in her expression, or maybe it was the way Henry shifted and seemed to try to lean closer to the glass, because the next thing she heard was him clearing his throat before he offered, “Perhaps tomorrow we can arrange a more personal visit, once the appropriate guards and security measures are in place, of course.”

She looked up at him and knew her eyes betrayed her hope. “I would never...” she started.

He cut her off before she could even begin. “The fact remains that you are currently in custody for violating a large number of security procedures and laws. Though we both know you would never knowingly allow harm to come to my grandson, measures must be taken,” he explained.

She nodded numbly, understanding the reasoning even if she did not agree with it. She also understood his phrasing – Henry was his, for now at least. She may be the mother, but he was the far more powerful grandfather and had complete control.

She wanted to say something, do something more than wave through the glass and her child, but doubted asking, “So, how is the destruction of an entire universe going anyway?” counted as idle chitchat. It turned out not to matter anyhow as the door opened behind him and a familiar looking man in a white lab coat approached.

“What is it now, Brandon? I told you I was not to be disturbed,” the Secretary chided. He turned though, taking the baby with him so now Olivia only had a profile view of her son and his increasingly upset-looking grandfather.

When voices drifted in through the speaker, she realized that he had forgotten to hit the button to make the conversation private. She stepped back so as to seem unassuming, but did her best to listen in.

The man in the coat, Brandon, spoke in the forced calm tones that usually meant there was a disaster in the making. The best she could make out was that there something unexpected had happened with “the machine” and she assumed that meant the device the Secretary was using to try to tear the other universe apart. The Secretary made a few suggestions, all of which the man claimed to have tried. With a sigh, the Secretary touched his earpiece and requested someone to retrieve Henry and return him to his nanny.

Olivia figured that would be the end of it: an aborted visit due to an aborted attempt to destroy another world. She also figured it meant the chances of another visit the following day had just decreased drastically. Instead, the scientist said something that raised her hackles and made her highly uncomfortable. “But sir, the child is already here. Surely there could be no harm...”

“I already told you no!” the Secretary snapped loud enough for Olivia to hear clearly. Quieter now, he said, “There will be no testing on children, in this matter or otherwise.”

“I was just going to ask for a fresh sample,” Brandon insisted. Somehow Olivia doubted that, and it wasn’t just the way the man nervously licked his lips and darted his eyes in Henry’s direction before he focused on the man before him. He was close enough that Olivia could make out his full name and clearance level on the badge clipped to his lapel: Brandon Fayette, with a clearance only one level below the Secretary’s. “I thought, given the circumstances, we could try both a pure sample and a newly cleansed sample to try to overwrite whatever they may have done to the machine on the other side.”

“And you are convinced it was something on the other side that caused the machine to stop working?” the Secretary asked. He easily bounced Henry back and forth before he could fuss, never taking his eyes off the man in front of him.

“It’s the only explanation,” Fayette insisted. He was adamant enough that even Olivia was tempted to believe him.

“And if that something happens to be my son?” The Secretary finally spared a glance down at the child in his hands, no doubt thinking of the only living reminder he currently had left of his own child.

Olivia’s dislike for the other man solidified when she heard, “You said it yourself, sir: he made his choice. If we are to save our world, it is time we made one of our own.”

She watched the Secretary fold and wondered who truly held the real power. She then watched in horror as her son was handed over to the stranger in the white coat with no more than a, “His nanny will be here shortly. I expect him to be ready by then,” in explanation.

“I will see to it,” Fayette said over her son’s sudden wails.

The Secretary said something else, but she could not make it out over the cries. He returned to the window and offered her only another of his smiles as he turned off the light, though still seemed ignorant of the speaker. Olivia listened to Henry’s screams echoing through the corridor as the Secretary simply walked away, not even bothering to turn back around to try to console him.

The scientist stepped closer now, clearly having no idea how to even hold a child. “Your son is very special, Ms. Dunham,” he told her. “I hope to discover just how special, and to see if it will be enough to save our world.” He juggled the baby in a way that looked far from safe and reached forward to turn off the speaker, her world growing suddenly silent. He did not even try to look sincere as he smirked at her and backed away, taunting her with the glimpse of her child being taken from her while she was trapped behind glass and metal and could do nothing about it. His badge flipped back and forth as Henry flailed, but she could see where he worked and where he hid, and she promised herself that she would find a way to get back at him for whatever it was he was about to do. It may cost her any hope of freedom, but she would find a way.

She estimated an hour had passed by the time she next saw movement in the hallway. She had spent that time pacing and cursing and worrying. She had convinced herself that something awful had happened to Henry and that she would never see him again, that she would be locked away and forgotten as the Secretary had no more need for her, that she would kill them both with her bare hands if need be should she ever escape.

The movement was neither the Secretary nor Fayette. It was not even a guard on rounds though they were near overdue by now. It was Lincoln, and he looked both skittish and guilty as he approached.

She was at the glass in an instant, resisting the urge to pound against it and to rail about everything that had happened. There were sensors everywhere; even if Lincoln had made it this far, he surely could not have gotten them all.

His mouth moved and she realized he was trying to speak to her, so she frantically gestured to the controls at the side. The lights flipped on and off, and his voice flickered in and out twice before he hit the correct setting. “Hey, Liv,” he smiled. “Just needed to check on you myself instead of getting your status through reports, you know?”

Though she appreciated his concern and obvious friendship, she did not want to waste time on pleasantries. “They took Henry,” she blurted out.

Lincoln stopped dead in his tracks, still several paces from fully in front of her. “What?” he demanded.

“The Secretary, he brought Henry for a visit, but this scientist, Brandon Fayette – we have seen him with the Secretary before, talked him into letting him have him for testing,” she rushed to explain.

“Testing?” Lincoln verified. She could tell he was not a hundred percent certain she was fully sane, but was willing to trust her at this point, at least until he received further information to prove or deny her claims.

“They have this machine, something to rip apart the other world. Peter, the Secretary’s son, is supposed to power it. The other world has him so they tried the next best thing,” she tried, knowing she was likely not helping her case for sanity.

“And that would be?” Lincoln prompted.

“Henry,” she replied, hoping he would understand just how dire the situation may be.

From his expression, she had the feeling she had gotten her point across. “Give me five minutes,” he said, and then took off down the hallway.

Four minutes and forty-six seconds later he returned, an ID badge and a set of electronic keys in his hands, one of which now bore bright red knuckles as he always did hold his fist a bit too tightly.

Five minutes and thirty-eight seconds past his initial departure she was free, both of them tearing down the hallway towards where she last saw the weasel of a scientist take her son.

They reached the emergency stairs and she headed upwards, Lincoln close at her heels. “Can I assume you have a general idea where to look, or will this be a systematic search floor by floor until we are caught?” he asked, not out of breath in the slightest.

“Saw his badge, so I know at least where to begin,” she called over her shoulder as she opened the heavy door.

“Works for me,” he said as he followed her through. He paused only once along the way to gift her with a stranger’s coat to wear over her prison grays so that she would hopefully look less conspicuous. She shoved the keys and a possibly stolen gun in the pocket and wore the badge as though it were her own, flipping her hair away from her collar as she tried to match up door numbers with her memory.

She found it and was suddenly thankful for absent-minded, over-confident scientists in supposedly secure locations as the door was not completely shut, which meant the lock had not fully engaged. There was a wail that she knew far too well, and she did not even pause to wonder who else might be in the room as she strode in with the gun aimed right at the smarmy face she was truly beginning to hate.

“Give me my son,” she demanded. There was a muted thud and a crash behind her, and she assumed Lincoln had taken care of any interlopers.

“Ms. Dunham, I assure you that the Secretary’s grandson is perfectly fine,” Brandon tried, the attempt all the more farcical over Henry’s continued cries.

“Give. Me. My. Son,” she repeated and chambered a round in the most obvious way she knew how. The safety had been off since she stepped through the door.

 

Lincoln appeared at her side, his own weapon trained on the man that seemed to think Henry could be used as a shield as he now held him close to his body. His head was still exposed though, as were both kneecaps, and she trusted her aim even as she questioned what injuries her son would receive from the fall.

It did not come to that though as Henry was slowly and deliberately handed over to Lincoln, who just as quickly handed him over to Olivia. Almost instantly, the wailing subsided into hiccupped little sobs instead. She kept her gun in her hand the entire time, and did not relax her aim even after Lincoln resumed his stance beside her.

“You are making a huge mistake,” Fayette said, voice oozing with confidence. “When Secretary Bishop finds out that you not only broke out of your cell, but stole his grandson? You will be lucky if you ever see the boy again.”

It was a fear Olivia had, that she would life the rest of her life on the run, or be caught and ripped away from her child forever, but none of that mattered, not when faced with the possibility of her child being used as a guinea pig, possibly harmed irreversibly in the name of “research” and the expansion of science.

She took a moment to assure herself that Henry was whole and unharmed, trusting that Lincoln would keep watch. He was missing the blanket he had been wrapped in when the Secretary had visited her and his chubby little arm was exposed, marred with more than a single injection site. Her head snapped up and it was then she noticed the syringes and the container of an odd red liquid next to open packages of antiseptic and tablet of notes very decidedly not hooked into the main system.

“What did you do to him?” she demanded. She received only another smirk for her efforts and so she felt the need to point out, “You told the Secretary you were obtaining a blood sample only. What do you think he’s going to do to you when he discovers you violated his orders and ran tests on his only living relative in this universe?”

The smirk faltered, but only for a moment. “I’m doing what needs to be done!” Fayette insisted. “In trials the effects increased as the age decreased, there was a clear pattern that he was too blind to see. But with living evidence...”

“What did you give him?” she asked, gun now only a hairsbreadth away from his temple.

Henry whimpered, either at his proximity to the man who had already done him harm, or possibly picking up on his mother’s anxiety. She spared a glance to make certain he was alright, not liking how pale he seemed in the bright lights of the lab.

Her moment’s distraction was all that was needed though, as the scientist surged forward and hit a button on his desk and the room instantly filled with the sound of klaxons. She swore under her breath and glared at the man who had turned back around to face her, sound in his victory. “I win,” he told her.

He reached for something else, but she never learned what as Lincoln appeared behind him and smacked him soundly with the butt of his gun in the same temple she had threatened only moments before. Fayette crumpled to the floor, a syringe of something that was most likely a sedative of some kind rolling away from his now limp hand.

“Let’s get out of here, Liv,” Lincoln urged. He filled his pockets with the miscellaneous debris and she knew he planned to test it back at Fringe headquarters in hopes of discovering just what was given to her child. She wanted to remind him to grab the tablet, but she could already hear the pounding footsteps of the guards approaching. With Henry safely in her arms, she followed Lincoln out the secondary entrance, hopefully before anyone could see which way they fled.

They ended up in a maze of smaller labs, most of which were thankfully deserted. The occupants of those that were not were encouraged to stay where they were with the brandishing of weapons and a few terse words. They were not close enough to realize the safety was back in place and possibly not bright enough to realize she would never risk her own child in that way. She knew it was not enough though; they were in the middle of a highly secure facility that was going into lockdown. There would be no way out, and she would lose her child, if not her life.

After a far longer chase than she thought she would be granted, they found themselves at a dead end. Two security doors stood between them and their potential freedom. For all she knew there were already guards waiting for them on the other side of the heavy steel, but she doubted she would get the chance to see them for herself.

Lincoln tried every security card and key he had with him, including his own and the one he so recently stole, but nothing worked. Olivia began what she liked to think of as a controlled panic, but could feel her heart pounding and realized she may have squeezed Henry a tiny bit too tightly when he began to whimper once more. She tried to soothe him, and quiet him, but to no avail. If anything, he was growing louder and she had a feeling he was about to throw an all out fit if given the chance.

She pressed her finger against his lips even though she knew he had yet to learn what that meant, and whispered, “Shh, try to keep quiet sweetie.”

It was too late though, as guard after guard rounded the corner, lighting up their little corner of darkness with far too many flashlights. “Stay where you are!” one of the men shouted.

She heard the sound of weapons readying and feared the worst. “Don’t shoot! There’s a child!” she tried. At the very least, even if she were to die, maybe Henry would be saved. The Secretary would make certain that he had everything he needed and, maybe, if she was lucky, would be human enough to make sure no scientist ever got their hands on him again.

It was then that something very odd happened. Henry wailed, she held him close and willed that he would be safe, and the entire area blurred for a moment before it filled with a bright white light. She heard Lincoln call her name, and then she heard nothing at all.

She came to in, of all things, the middle of what appeared to be a restroom. There was glass around her and, from the sharp pain just above her elbow, possibly within her as well. Henry was still safe in her arms as she had luckily fallen backwards instead of forwards, and he still snuffled and whimpered and looked ready to let out an almighty yell.

She hushed him even through her dizziness and turned to find that wherever she ended up, she did not end up alone as Lincoln sat at her side, rubbing his head and wiping at a tiny wound on his temple. “Liv?” he asked, sounding as out of it as she did.

“Over here!” she heard someone call. It was followed by another voice, or perhaps the same just closer, explaining, “I think she passed out.”

“What was she even doing over here? This area was to be evacuated,” a new voice joined the fray.

“If she felt ill, maybe she headed in here to deal with it,” the first voice was back, the tone very matter of fact as though something obvious.

Lincoln scooted behind her and she could feel the side of his gun against her hip, hidden from view but readily available if needed. He pulled her back against him and she knew what role she was to play. She blinked to clear her vision and saw the glass was actually from a mirror set against the wall, shards still clinging messily to the frame. There was a sink to her side and little private cubicles lining the other wall. She had enough concentration back by the time two figures entered through the propped open door to have tucked her own weapon and various badges out of sight as well.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” the second voice asked. It belonged to a large man wearing the colors of a medic.

She nodded slowly, playing her role. “Just got dizzy,” she replied with a quirk of her lips. It was not a lie, at least not completely.

The small woman who came with him smiled in understanding. “I used to have spells like that for weeks after my David was born. Took them forever to figure out it was tied to my blood pressure – I could have told them that much.” She shook her head and offered out a hand, “Here, let’s get you up and looked at.”

She let them help raise her to a standing position, Lincoln supporting her from behind though she figured he was just as bad off as she was at this point. She would not let them take a now snuffling Henry from her, something the woman at least seemed to understand.

“This area was to be evacuated,” the medic explained. “Let’s get you outside and to the truck so we can take a look at you while the big-wigs do their thing,” he suggested in the way that was not truly a suggestion.

She let them escort her and Henry, Lincoln still at her side, out through what appeared to be of all things a gift shop, to an area crawling with people in various suits and uniforms. She looked around warily, not quite sure what to make of the scene, right up until someone turned around and she saw the three neat letters on the back of his old-style ballistics vest. “I know where we are,” she told Lincoln, not sure if she was able to keep the disbelief from her tone.

“That’s good,” the medic said encouragingly, not noticing the look she shared with her friend. “It doesn’t look like you hit your head, so we’re just going to run a couple of quick tests while we bandage up that arm of yours.”

She hoped nothing drastic had changed since her last visit, and carefully answered each and every question posed to her. The medic seemed to accept everything at face value, though Lincoln raised his eyebrows when she claimed her name was “Olivia Lee” and that she must have dropped her “I.D.” somewhere.

She would not be allowed back in the building to look for it, which was fine since it never existed anyway. She managed to explain away the distress by strongly hinting that she believed someone had tried to grab Henry from her, something that also helped explain the lack of stroller and how she ended up in a women’s restroom. Lincoln quickly chimed in that he had followed her in there to make sure she was alright after her scare. A simple mention of his name and the medic assumed they were a couple, which worked well for all.

What did not work quite as well was the fact that a certain agent with familiar brown curls chose that moment to walk by. As observant as always, she paused mid-step and turned to face them both head on. One step, and her gun was out of its holster. Another step, and she keyed her radio to announce, “Agent Broyles, I believe we have a situation.”

“Liv, what is Agent Farnsworth doing here?” Lincoln asked with deceiving calmness.

The medic had stepped back now as more FBI agents circled around them. “Look up,” Olivia said in explanation. She glanced upwards herself to view the oddly dull gray-blue hues of the statue that normally shone so bright. She shifted Henry both to a more comfortable position and to make sure the infant was visible to everyone approaching. “I told you I knew where we were. Welcome to the other side.”

“I’m not even going to ask how you got here,” Farnsworth told her as she took a step closer.

“That’s good, because we really don’t know,” Lincoln replied. Olivia took note that he had yet to either brandish or hand over his weapon. She had a feeling that would not last long.

“I am, however, going to demand to know what you are doing here and advise you that you should consider yourself now in custody,” Farnsworth continued as if she had not been interrupted.

A man Olivia did not recognize appeared at her side, as close as the medic had been only moments before. “Give me the child,” he ordered.

She was certain there was some logical reason for it, likely to make certain just who Henry was, where he belonged, and to possibly handcuff his mother. However, logic played no role when she replied, “You are not taking my son.”

She stood up from where she had been seated on the back bumper of the ambulance and took an instinctual step away from him, ignoring the way another dozen weapons seemed to follow the movement. The agent said something else, as did Astrid, but she head none of it over the wail of her child. The world began to blur at the edges again and she briefly wondered if the small woman had been correct and there was something odd going on with her blood pressure, even as she heard a panicked shout from Lincoln and the world faded away.

She swore that the worlds changed again, that for the briefest of moments she stood in the shadow of the building where she had been held only an hour before where klaxons still filled the air and she heard echoed shouts of, “There she is!” and then she was back again, sagging into Lincoln’s arms as he caught her before she could collapse.

Her world was spinning, but in a much more mundane way now. Too many people swarmed around her, even while Lincoln covered her and insisted they did not know what was going on. And then Farnsworth, beautiful, wonderful, logical Farnsworth, hovered above her and ordered, “No one touches the baby.”

She was raised up onto a gurney, the head of which was positioned so that she was propped into a sitting position, Henry still clutched tightly to her. Her pockets were searched and the gun and badges removed even as Lincoln was patted down, disarmed, and cuffed beside her. The medic tried to get her to drink something that could have been water, but she did not trust it. He took a sip himself to show her it was safe and she reluctantly swallowed a mouthful, the coldness washing away some of the fog.

Her pulse was checked, as was any other reading they were able to get from her to be sure, but, thankfully, Henry remained safe in her arms throughout. Farnsworth – no, Astrid as she deserved to be called by her favored name here – stayed by her side, gun holstered and unnecessary as a swarm of agents still surrounded them. She was on her radio, no doubt reporting in, and Olivia only half-listened right up until she heard, “Did Peter wake up?”

“What’s wrong with Peter?” Olivia asked. She was ignored, which was not a great surprise.

Astrid took a step away and nodded at whatever she heard even though there was no way whoever she was speaking to could see her with this side’s limited technology. “Let me know if there are any changes, no matter how small,” she ordered and then returned her attention to Olivia, Lincoln, and the matter at hand. “Why are you here?” she demanded.

“It was not my intention,” Olivia swore. She was feeling far more like herself again. Henry had calmed now and was making the quiet little snuffling sounds he did before he drifted off to sleep. The dark circles under his eyes also belied his exhaustion. Apparently traveling between universes took a lot out of you, regardless of age. “I’m not quite sure how we got here, but I think it may have something to do with what that man did to Henry.”

Astrid looked over to Lincoln, who gestured back towards the baby. “Not me!” he insisted. “The baby was given a drug of some sort; I’ve never seen it before. We got him back and tried to escape and the next thing we know, we’re here.” He tried what Charlie called his “earnest eyes” look, all false innocence and solemnly, but Olivia doubted it would make any more of a difference here than it did back home.

Astrid narrowed her own eyes, either in thought or disbelief. “We’ll need a sample and no, this does not mean that I believe you or that you are free to go,” she said.

Lincoln nodded, probably have expected as much. “Your men already have whatever I was able to grab,” he told her. He motioned with his cuffed hands, no doubt in an attempt to remind her that he was still bound despite his helpfulness. He was a new player here; Astrid might not know what he was capable of and actually release him. Then again, she might be soured by Olivia’s own experience and not trust a single person from the other side at all, Peter included.

Astrid glanced over to the various findings and raised an eyebrow. Olivia knew it was not much, and it probably did not help their case as much as it could. She had burned her bridges here and everything she said or did now was to be met with doubt. To her surprise, Astrid simply said, “We’ll analyze it and see if it verifies anything you say.” Almost sympathetically, she added, “We will probably need a sample of the child’s blood as well.”

Olivia knew she should have expected that, yet she still did not want to think of poor Henry jabbed with more needles. She also knew Astrid still doubted he was hers in the first place. That much was obvious by her constantly calling him “the child” and not “your child” or any variation there of. She had a feeling a very long and possibly awkward conversation stood before her. Maybe she could try some of that whisky the Olivia on this side always preferred; it couldn’t help but make things more tolerable.

“I stay with him at all times,” Olivia wheedled, even though she knew she had no real standing to do so here.

“I think that can be arranged,” Astrid agreed easily enough. Either she saw how much Henry favored Olivia, or just wanted to keep everyone corralled together. Both options worked for Olivia so long as she was able to stay with her child. She would love if Lincoln could also stay close given his panache for escape plans and thinking on the fly, but would take what she could get for now.

Lincoln tugged on one of the tiny little fingers with his bound hands. Henry woke enough to smile at him, or at least did what Olivia insisted on calling a smile, and he offered a quick grin back before he asked, “Do you trust this lab of yours?”

“Not lab, man,” Astrid corrected, and Olivia knew exactly who she was talking about. “And if there’s anything Walter knows about, it’s drugs.”

Olivia winced. Of course Walter would be involved; he seemed to be this world’s foremost expert on all things cross-universe related. She wondered what his reaction to seeing her again would be, and whether or not it would be tapered by the knowledge she held his surrogate son’s child in her hands. It seemed to work for the Walter Bishop on her side, so there was at least hope if nothing else. Then again, she was quickly learning just how different the two sides could be, so everything was up in the air for now.

“Walter?” Lincoln asked, confused. He of course knew the Secretary’s given name, but that didn’t mean he made the immediate connection.

Olivia sighed. They had just run away from a man only to run to his counterpart for help. Well, “run” might not be the right word. She looked to the men and women with guns surrounding her and mentally changed that to “frog-marched” instead.

Lincoln still looked to her, waiting for an answer. The tiny cut by his temple had already dried to a thin red line, and she was reminded of the case reports where he insisted on tracking anything and everything down, regardless of his need for the constant medical attention. There was no way he was going to let this go. There was, however, a way to stall for a bit, even if it would mean more questions and explanations and full disclosure of her time over on this side further down the line. She quirked her lips and told him, “Oh, you are going to love this.”

They were not brought to the basement lab of Harvard, nor were they brought to the bowels of Massive Dynamic. Instead they were brought to what, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be an almost makeshift building, sized and shaped likely to fit something specific as she did not remember such a thing existing previously, but what that something was Olivia had yet to discover. They were kept in the hallway on the other side of two closed doors, and she suspected whatever it was lay on the other side. She craned her neck as much as she could given the wheelchair she had been transferred to, and tried to peer around when Astrid entered, but was prevented from actually seeing what was inside by an agent that did not seem to care she was holding a baby if the hand on his gun was anything to go by.

“What is this place, Liv?” Lincoln asked.

“I wish I knew,” she replied, for she was truly at a loss.

The doors opened again and she could hear the rushed talk of worried people and the beeps of multiple monitors. She concerned herself less with what they could be doing and more with the man who had just appeared. He still looked so foreign, so much less than the imposing form of the Secretary, what with his frumpy clothing and too-long hair. He also looked worried, something she guessed she should not be surprised about given potential tears in his universe and people appearing from the other side.

“Her?” he scoffed. “You had me leave Peter’s side for her?” He turned on his heel and headed back for the doors. Olivia caught bits and pieces of his mutters, something about horrors and deaths and a word that sounded like “agenda” but not quite.

“I have your grandson,” she blurted. Walter froze in place and slowly turned back around. She shrugged and amended, “Well, surrogate grandson. This is Peter’s child, and you are far more of a father to him than the Walter Bishop on my side will ever be.”

Walter was, for once, speechless. His eyes darted from her to Henry and back again. Eventually, he managed a glare and a huffed, “Not possible.”

It was Astrid who clarified his doubt, her own expression one of disgust as though Olivia had personally betrayed her and played upon her emotions. “You were not pregnant when you left, at least not visibly, and you have not been gone nearly enough time to have fully gestated and given birth to a child that has to be at least a few weeks old at this point.”

Walter shook his head. “What’s the game this time? Make us bond with a ticking time bomb? Get Peter to fall for some orphaned child and come back over to your side with you just in time for you to destroy this side?” he scoffed.

“There was not enough time,” Olivia agreed easily enough. “I was kidnapped and drugged and managed to go through nearly six months of growth in a matter of hours.” Her bones still ached at the memory. The procedure may have eventually proved to be a gift, but that did not mean it was in any way pleasant.

“We searched for her and found her after she managed to escape,” Lincoln chimed in. “She almost died from what they did to her but, in the end, both she and baby Henry were safe and sound.” He spared a glance at both of them, a fond smile on his features despite the seriousness of the situation and the fact that everyone, baby included, could be locked up if Walter did not believe what Olivia had to say.

“Henry?” Astrid asked. Her voice was too doubting, too forced. She knew something, or at least suspected something.

“He’s named after the cab driver that delivered him,” Lincoln explained while Olivia tried to figure out what she was playing at. “We thought he was one of the kidnappers at first, but I think he knew your Olivia Dunham from your side. He may have helped her out when she was on our side but didn’t know she was different from this Olivia at the time.”  
Astrid whispered something to Walter, too low for Olivia to hear, and then picked up her phone as she stepped to the side. Olivia was willing to bet she was calling her counterpart on this side to verify something said in passing, though it was entirely possible she was giving her a heads up to come over and take the first shot.

“This procedure, whatever it was that they did to me, ended up saving us both,” she said. She held Henry closer and tried to imagine her life without him, or his without her, and decided she rather did not like that idea at all. “There is a viral infection on our side, my sister Rachel had it and died in childbirth from it. The pregnancy progressed too fast for it to kill either one of us. We still don’t know what the people wanted Henry for but, in an ironic way, I owe them my life.”

“Pity, really,” Walter spat, but she could see his heart was not in it. She turned Henry slightly so he could see him better, and saw the way his hands almost reached out, only to fist at his side when he stopped himself.

“I did not mean to come to this side, not like this,” she insisted. “I don’t even know how it happened. A scientist took Henry and I just couldn’t... Lincoln helped me find him and we were trying to escape when suddenly we were over on this side instead. I think it may have something to do with what the man gave him, or it could have something to do with whatever the original kidnappers did, I honestly don’t know.” She did not mention her original attempt to cross over alone, how she was captured and betrayed and how it solidified in her mind just who the better Walter Bishop was in this whole mess. Things were confusing enough already, and if they thought she tried before they might think she had an ulterior motive and would trust her less than they already did.

“Why should we believe you?” Walter asked. His tone was more curiosity than bitterness now, and she was going to take whatever advantage she could get, no matter how small. It was a simple enough question, but she doubted there was any single answer he would accept as the truth.

Olivia knew she would only have one chance. As much dislike as her current companions had for her, and as much as she was more than willing to see to their destruction only weeks before, she needed their help now as much as they likely needed hers, whether they realized it or not.

“The scientist wanted a sample of Henry’s blood,” she replied. “He made it sound like they had taken one previously and already used it, mentioned some machine and needing to cleanse it to make it work. We tracked a massive Fringe event right in the middle of the Department of Defense. Given the amount of security you now have here on this side in almost the same location, it stands to reason something happened here as well. It has to be the same thing. The two have to be connected. Everything that is currently happening has to be more than just a coincidence.”

Astrid had returned and heard Olivia’s explanation, taking it all in with her usual wide eyes and slight disbelieving expression. When she turned to Walter though, it was not doubt coloring her tone, but suspicion. “Everything we found supports that Peter powers the machine. Without him on their side...”

“They found the next best thing in his son,” Walter finished for her. He snapped his fingers and met her gaze for only a moment before he had the thousand yard stare that meant his mind was working far faster than anyone around him would be able to follow. “We need tests and simulations and I want full access to Massive Dynamics’ servers, a sample of whatever they brought with them, the equipment to analyze it with, and a cherry slushee, raspberry if you can’t find one.”

“And Peter?” Astrid prompted, as though the man might have forgotten his son.

“I think I know why the machine rejected him, but I can’t be sure,” Walter rambled. He was jittery, with the unrestrained energy of a new find, coupled with just the hint of insecurity she so rarely saw in her own version of the elder Bishop. It meant he was not positive, not yet, but was more than likely on the right tract if her brief experiences with his version of genius were anything to go by.

“Care to share with the rest of the class?” a new voice sounded. Broyles. Of course he would be here. Much like the other side, he was in charge. Unlike the other side, this side still seemed to know where he was and what happened to him.

Olivia shifted Henry slightly and rested a calming hand on a bewildered Lincoln’s arm. “He’s not the same, but he’s close enough,” she told him, knowing full well she was being listened to. Both men had been fair, and devoted to saving their worlds the best ways they knew how. This Broyles may be pissed at her, but she knew he would at least listen before throwing her into the brig.

The man in question only pursed his lips at her and returned his attention to the matter at hand. “Doctor Bishop?” he prompted. If she thought Walter’s greeting was cold, Broyles was absolutely freezing. Then again, she had betrayed him and his team and actively worked to put everything he knew in jeopardy, so there was that.

Walter stuttered slightly, but managed, “I believe they used the child’s blood, his DNA sequences, to power their machine. They would have had to strip it of everything to do with his mother, but it must have been close enough to work.” His hands shook slightly as though he was trying to force the words out, as if the momentum of his body could propel everything forward that was stuck in his damaged mind. “It must not have been pure. Close, but not close enough. The machine thinks Peter is powering it, but this child is instead.”

“How would that work?” Broyles asked, which was something Olivia herself would have liked to know.

“I’m not sure,” Walter admitted, and it seemed like it pained him to do so. “I need to run some tests, but if even a single strand of the mother’s DNA contaminated their sample, it might explain why Peter was rejected: it needs something more than just him to work.”

“Why would the machine accept the blood in the first place if it was not purely Peter’s?” Astrid asked.

Walter looked at her and frowned, the same look of uncertainty marring his features. Olivia knew that meant his next words were purely conjecture when he said, “The machine is hundreds, if not thousands, of years old. For it to be so finely tuned to an individual is a remarkable thing. Perhaps there is an allowance for variance to account for evolutionary and circumstantial changes.”

“The question still remains as to just why this Olivia and this child crossed over in the first place,” Broyles pointed out, apparently taking Walter’s guess for the nearest thing to the truth. Olivia had to admit she was tempted to do so herself. Logic and reasoning had to play a role, even if direct evidence was lacking. “Not to mention what the ramifications may be of having both sources of powering the machine in one area, on one Earth. We are working on a limited timeline as it is. If this speeds up the process, I’m not sure either side may be able to handle it.”

Olivia was expecting a diatribe of how no one was certain Henry was who she said he was, and how everything was likely tied to some greater agenda put forth by the Secretary and Olivia herself, how they could not trust a word she said and sure as hell could not believe she did not play a role in something so important. Instead, Walter looked up with his usual slightly overwhelmed and slightly mad in the insane kind of way expression, and said, “As for how she got here, I have no idea, not yet. As for the ramifications? This very well could mean we win.”

While the others took in that, Lincoln whispered, “Liv? While I’m all for us surviving and living out long and healthy lives, I would rather not see our home destroyed.”

She opened her mouth to try to reassure him of something she knew absolutely nothing about, but found it unnecessary. Walter once again spoke, but this time to Lincoln directly. “Don’t you see, son? When I say we win, I mean both of us! All of us! Both sides! We can destroy this machine and its counterpart and prevent any more rifts from being created. We very well may be able to heal the ones that already exist!”

Lincoln looked shocked, but Broyles looked dubious, and Olivia had learned from her time on this side that Walter Bishop tended to get ahead of himself far too quickly and think of things on far too grand of scale. She believed him brilliant enough to find a way to stop the machines if given the correct tools to do so, but even she did not think that the damage could even be undone. The destruction, _his_ destruction, was far too great to simply reverse, even if she was finally willing to admit to the chance that none of this had ever been his intention in the first place. So many places sealed in Amber; so many lives lost or put on hold. There could be no healing, but maybe there could be some sort of middle ground where the destruction was limited, or halted all together. If anyone could do that, she did believe it would be someone with the name of Walter Bishop. She just did not know which one it would be.

She and Lincoln were moved to a holding room of sorts. Walter wanted her near enough to answer any questions he may have, and Broyles wanted her contained. The compromise was a room that looked to be a kitchenette of all things, complete with a sink and refrigerator and tables, and multiple armed guards both in the room and in the hallway outside it. She was not surprised when both Broyles and Farnsworth came in to ask her more questions and generally glare in her direction, but she was surprised when Astrid presented her with an unopened container of baby formula and several types of bottles to attempt to feed Henry with when she had to explain breastfeeding was not an option due to the accelerated pregnancy not gifting her with the means to create her own milk. She did not feel the need to explain very few mothers on her side got the chance to feed their children in that way to start with, or the far more fortified and balanced creations used to feed beyond a tin of white powder.

She prepared a bottle to the instructions given, still holding on to Henry while trying to sort out the scoop and water until a newly unhandcuffed Lincoln offered, “Here, Liv, let me help.”

Her arm was getting slightly tired of holding Henry nonstop for so long, not so much the weight as much as being held in the same position, so she shifted slightly to let him take him. Lincoln lifted him easily enough and Henry only fussed a bit until he realized his surrogate uncle had him. Olivia watched as Henry snuggled closer and did his odd little opening and closing of his mouth that meant that if he did not get food soon, they would all hear about it.

She finished with the bottle and handed it to Lincoln simply so she could watch the usually tough Fringe agent coo and make all sorts of embarrassing noises while he fed her child. Henry made a face at the taste, but hunger won out over strangeness and soon enough he was suckling away at the little rubber tip. Lincoln was a natural with him, or at least faked it well. He even remembered to raise Henry upright and pat on his back, which served more to put the baby to sleep than to help with his digestion.

They probably would have sat like that for a while, Lincoln with Henry and Olivia watching from her chair at the table, but a loud crash sounded from the room next door, the lights flickered, and then everything went to hell.

Henry startled at the disturbance just as much as Olivia herself did, but his new defense mechanism clicked in before she could get to him. Lincoln was standing, trying to coddle and reassure Henry, and then he was gasping as Henry began to glimmer and phase.

“Stay still!” Olivia ordered even as the armed men swarmed the room. It did not matter as she was not talking to them anyway.

Lincoln must have figured that much out as he gritted his teeth and held on tightly until Olivia could grab Henry away from him. She felt her world tip slightly to the side and saw in the reflection of the shined metal of the refrigerator the way she too now had an odd glow about her. For the briefest of moments, she saw a park and a child on a swing, and the familiar orange-yellow of the Amberfied building from two years before that had inspired the park to be built in the first place, and then she was back in the medically clean and precise kitchenette area with Lincoln being lowered to the floor and her own legs growing weak.

Strong hands caught her and helped her sit, Henry still in hand, and then Broyles was in front of her, stern face filled with what almost looked like concern. “What just happened?” he demanded.

Olivia really wished she had an answer for him, but honestly had no idea. She was more concerned with the horde of medics around Lincoln and the fact she could see what looked to be blood on his chest when they parted enough for her to have a somewhat clearer view.

Walter arrived, Astrid at his side as always. She, once again, was the most reasonable of the lot and instead of compiling the various reports from people who could not give a whole picture, called up the video feed of the room.

Olivia was allowed to watch, though the footage left her with more questions than answers. When Henry shimmered, it was though the very air around him shifted and blurred with him, unfortunately including whatever parts of Lincoln were touching him at the time. As the Olivia in the video approached, tiny little dots of light shone in her hands and at the small of her back. The lights grew brighter, seemed to almost obscure her completely before she fluttered in and out of view and likely this universe as a whole only to return in time to be caught by the armed man behind her.

“Liv?” Lincoln asked from his spot on the floor. His arms were being wrapped with gauze, as was a fair portion of his shoulder and upper left chest. His skin looked raw, but whatever damage done was far from lethal. He may have to suffer the healing techniques of this side versus those of their own, but it could have been far worse and they both knew it.

“The transponders,” she said, more to herself than to the people gathered. She looked to the hand not currently clutching Henry as though she could see the little bits of technology through the layers of skin and tissue. “They never took them out.” They had not seen the need to as they did her no harm and would save time and resources should they ever need to send her over again. They were one of the reasons she thought she would have success in her mission before Fayette lied and she was caught.

“Were those to help you escape and cross back over to your side?” Walter asked. She must have truly been disoriented by the whole experience if she had not heard him approach.

She nodded and offered out her hand even though she knew he would not be able to see anything any more than her. He poked right at the entry mark and then began to mutter something about amplification and portals and transference and all sorts of things that likely made sense to only him and maybe a certain someone on the other side.

“Doctor Bishop?” Broyles prompted when he no definitive explanation appeared to be forthcoming.

Instead of answering him, Walter asked, “This phasing you just did, was it at all similar to your experience crossing over?”

She tried to think back, but simply was not certain. The first time she crossed, it was in the guise of the Olivia from this side, sans transponders and with the help of a strange man that may or may not have survived the experience. When she crossed back, she remembered only the glow and sharp spikes of pain and then a stay in the medical ward once she finally awoke. There was some disorientation like there was this time, but mainly the anxiety of being caught and torn away from the start of an actual life with Peter mixed with blinding agony overwrote all of that.

“Each time it’s been different,” she replied, and knew that was not the answer he was looking for. “I do think I’m crossing over though, even if just for a moment. I see things that exist only in our world, places that are familiar but different from anything here.”

“Olive used to do the same thing,” Walter mused. She was not sure who he was talking about, but he seemed to have made a connection of sorts and was off again to compile data, drink slushees, or whatever it was that he did to solve the many problems of this world.

He poked his head back in long enough to order, “Do not let anyone else hold the child! Without the amplification of the transponders they may well be torn apart, half in this world and half in the next.”

“So how exactly did Mr. Lee manage to cross over with Dunham and the child in the first place?” Broyles asked. Olivia had to admit the same question was at the top of her own mind.

Walter, of course, did not immediately answer but chose instead to rant, “It was a foolish thing he did, grabbing on and coming with. The child is barely generating a field large enough for himself. The transmitters expanded the field to encompass Faux-livia as well, likely just barely. He jumped on and was fortunate enough to survive the journey.” He turned to Lincoln and chided, “You were lucky not to loose a hand, or even an arm with your little stunt.”

Olivia ignored the name Walter had come up with for her even though Lincoln’s expression was priceless. She had heard the moniker this Walter used for the Secretary and, as amusing as the name “Walternate” could be, it was simply another sign of the man’s multiple neuroses and trivial touch with reality as far as she was concerned.

“If Henry is not strong enough on his own, how did we get here?” she demanded. She noted no one questioned the way she held him just that tiny bit closer, not even Lincoln who could potentially be left behind.

“He crossed when we powered up our version of the machine,” Walter explained. Broyles looked pained that his pocket scientist was giving away state secrets again, but Olivia figured that if they had a machine on their side it only made sense they had something similar here. “The two machines are ripping rifts in reality, tearing the curtain between our universes. With that doorway already weak, it was easy enough for extra to come along for the ride.”

“But how is this even possible?” Broyles asked. “How can a child do any of this at all?”

“I believe the drug he was given was Cortexaphan, or some facsimile of it,” Walter said as though that explained it all. Based on Astrid and Broyles’ expressions, it very well might have.

Walter, of course, did not explain further, but disappeared out the door once more. Broyles followed after a warning look in Olivia’s direction, and soon enough only the guards and a single medic to check on Lincoln remained in the makeshift holding cell.

Astrid stopped by some time later and helped Olivia fit an odd contraption into place that buckled Henry to her and left her aching arms free for use. It looked like something she had seen in antique images, though how it was common place enough to apparently purchased in a local store she had no idea. It was padded though, and the plastic clasps were modern enough. Henry did not seem to mind it that much, and even Olivia had to admit it most definitely had its benefits.

As easy as it would be to escape and figure out for herself what was going on, she resisted. Astrid was helping in ways she did not need to and, really, the best people this side had to offer were trying to sort things out. Of course that did not mean Olivia was not tempted to find one of her contacts on this side and have them divulge anything else they might know, but it did mean she kept that urge in check, at least for now.

It was later still, after Walter had wandered in and out a few more times and sub-standard food was served with the glory that was real coffee, that she paced the room and ignored Lincoln’s offers for poker with some cards he had either found or possibly been given from one of the guards, that something else caught her eye: Peter.

He was being wheeled by in a wheelchair similar to the one she had used upon arrival and looked more than slightly worse for wear. There was a large gauze bandage on his forehead already stained through with blood, a slice across the bridge of his nose, and either bore shadows from exhaustion or he had the beginnings of two very black eyes. He was conscious, though it looked like that was a near thing, and he happened to turn his head as he passed the window that took up half the door to the room.

He stopped the forward momentum of the chair and had the medic assigned to him push him towards the door instead. It worried Olivia that he seemed unable to do such a simple task on his own and part of her wondered just what toll this universe was taking on its adopted son.

One of the guards opened the door, but two more stepped forward to make certain she did not try anything such as escaping or possibly knifing the man who dared to switch sides. Not that she had a knife. She still had the plastic bottle Astrid had offered her, but doubted a shard of that would be enough to do significant damage, even in Peter’s weakened state. Closer, she could see the way he slouched as though his body was simply too tired to even sit upright and the way his hands sat lax in his lap as he did not even make an attempt to work the chair by himself.

He narrowed his eyes at her in a look that was not quite a glare, though she could not tell if it was due to being too tired to do so or that his heart was not really in for the effort. She rather hoped for the latter, but was smart enough to know that was foolish thinking. His gaze softened only the tiniest of bits when he took in just what she held, and her curiosity as to how much he was told was assuaged by his raised eyebrow and doubtful, “Walter says you claim the child is mine.”

She stood a little bit straighter, knew to show no weakness despite her own petty exhaustion. “He is,” she affirmed.

A second eyebrow joined the first when he said, “Simple math would say otherwise.”

“Simple math does not account for advanced scientific techniques and factions that would like to get their hands on the genetics of the legendary Peter Bishop,” she countered.

He nodded his head to the side in a way that she took to mean he conceded the point. “We should have the lab results back soon enough to know for certain,” he shrugged. It was calculated and cool, and looked like an incredibly painful thing to do.

She hoped the lab results proved more than genetics. She wanted to know what was given to her child, and any possible lasting effects it may have on him. Obviously the shifting between words was there, but how long would that little trick last, and what other special little tricks might be laying in wait as Henry metabolized the chemical, if metabolizing was even possible.

Peter looked up at the presence she now felt behind her, and she tried not to be jealous of the hint of warmth in his expression, that he would care for a virtual stranger more than he would a woman he once took to his bed. “Agent Lee, was it?” Peter asked, surprising her. She did not remember Lincoln getting that close during Peter’s brief stay on the other side. “Do I even want to know how you got caught up in all this?”

Lincoln shrugged and offered a finger out for Henry to wrap his little fist around. Henry was more interested in the white bandage that was taped into place around his surrogate uncle’s wrist, but Lincoln easily deflected the attentions back to his hand instead. “I head up the Fringe division on our side now,” he explained, never taking his eyes off the baby.

“Well, I guess someone had to after what happened to Broyles,” Peter offered. It was hard to tell if he was giving his condolences or making a cutting remark.

Both Olivia and Lincoln ignored the tone to focus on the words though, and Lincoln beat her to it when he asked, “You know what happened to him?”

His voice was a dead giveaway that neither of them knew the truth, especially for someone as accustomed to reading people as Peter was. “You have no idea, do you?” Peter scoffed. He shook his head, though it looked to be more in incredulity than in sorrow or remorse.

Olivia glared at Lincoln to let her handle this, even though he was technically her boss. He acquiesced easily enough, so she tried to give away as little as possible as she explained, “Agent Broyles disappeared several months ago. We are still investigating his possible whereabouts.”

“Then I guess I’m doing you a favor after all,” Peter sighed. Olivia had a feeling she was not going to like what he had to say, something that was proven when he told her, “Your Broyles appeared on our side. Well, most of him at least. From what we can tell, his mass was used in exchange for your own to bring you back.”

Olivia tried not to visibly stagger. She had an odd dizzy feeling much like she had after her brief crossovers, only this one was matched with a deep sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. The timing had been too close, even she had acknowledged that. Some part of her had hoped he was simply in detainment somewhere after assisting her counterpart or questioning the wrong politician.

“Wait, you’re making it sound like this was intentional, like our side chose to sacrifice Broyles to save Liv,” Lincoln pointed out. “We had no idea that our Olivia was even over on this side, at least not at our level. We would have never needlessly sacrificed the head of the Fringe Division...”

“When you could needlessly sacrifice someone else instead?” Peter supplied. His nose flared in a way that told Olivia that he was well and truly angry, which meant this was personal in some way. She had a feeling she was about to find out exactly how and was not disappointed when he provided, “Your ‘side’ was willing to sacrifice _our_ Olivia to bring yours back. They could have simply made the exchange, one for one, but instead decided slicing her up to figure out what gave her the ability to crossover was the better option and they were going to make up the difference for whatever they kept with random waste. My own father okayed this little plan, so don’t tell me about ‘nevers’ or ‘needless’ because I highly doubt there is much he would not do to further his own agenda.”

She leaned back against the table as she took this all in. On some level she knew there would have to be an exchange, equal for equal, she just never thought it would be a death for her life. She thought maybe they would toss the other Olivia over, likely unconscious, as a sort of prisoner exchange. Never did it cross her mind that they would kill her first, and most certainly did it never occur to her that Broyles would pay the cost of her survival.

“What was he even doing there?” Lincoln asked, more to the universe at large than to anyone specific. He looked upwards, as though the tiled ceiling held some secret knowledge no one else dared to learn.

Someone specific did answer though, and it was someone Olivia was hoping in vain to avoid. “He saved my life,” the other Olivia replied. She walked in, all slicked back blonde hair and tailored clothing. She rested a hand on the back of Peter’s wheelchair and, when Peter reached up to take it in his own, Olivia knew their relationship had progressed during her absence. Peter’s quick press of a kiss to her knuckles was just the nail in the coffin.

“Liv,” Peter consoled, and it hurt a little to know he was not talking to her. She had laid the groundwork for the relationship, opened him up to caring, bore his child, and was left out in the cold as far as he was concerned. It’s not like she expected him to drop everything and forgive all her trespasses just because a single sperm had gotten lucky, but she had hoped he would be willing to talk and maybe be convinced she was worth another chance, that his own universe was worth another chance, really. She highly doubted now that he would leave the woman he had thought he was with all along to go back to a broken world and a father so willing to destroy so much, not when he had something whole and free of several levels of betrayal. Maybe Henry would tip the scales in her favor. Then again, maybe Henry would be taken from her so he could lead his picture perfect life with only a tiny bit of taint left behind.

That Olivia was talking now though, and Olivia decided with possibly a bit of spite that she would forevermore be known “Faux-livia”, at least within her own mind. She rather liked the symbolism, actually. She was not her. She would never be her. She was a fake, and a separation of identities was warranted. If Olivia happened to use the little moniker Walter came up with, with all its demeaning attributes, all the better.

Olivia forced herself to listen even though she doubted she could truly trust a thing Faux-livia said any more than this side trusted a word that passed from her own lips. “Broyles figured out who I was when I saved his son. He was willing to let me go, but I was caught anyway. They knew they needed to make the exchange to get you back, but Brandon convinced Walternate that I could still be of use, at least select parts of me. Broyles got to me in time and got me to Walter’s old lab so I could cross over on my own. He locked me in the tank, but there was gunfire right around the time I made the transfer.” She recited it as if by rote. It could have been a carefully crafted tale about the evils of the other side, if Olivia had not recognized the slightly wider than usual eyes or the shortness of breath that made for awkward pauses, all signs of barely concealed distress, and all things she herself was guilty of when her emotions overran her reason.

“That was around the time you made your little escape,” Peter said accusingly. His grip on Olivia’s hand tightened for a moment before he finally released her. “Our Olivia can cross over without the need to balance the mass; yours cannot. When we opened the door to the truck, you were gone and Broyles took your place. Well, part of him anyway. Needless to say, he did not survive his wounds.”

“He was a good man,” Faux-livia said, and for once the two of them agreed on something.

Lincoln, of course, focused on something else. As much as he mourned the loss of his colleague and friend, Olivia knew the story served more as confirmation of what he had suspected all along, and spoke with Charlie about in hushed tones when they thought she was not listening. “You said it was someone named Brandon that wanted to experiment on you?” he asked. “Pale guy? Dark hair and beady little eyes?”

The blonde head bobbed in confirmation. “We have our version of him over here, but he served as a sort of right-hand man to Walternate on your side.”

“I think that’s the same man who drugged Henry,” Lincoln supplied, and Olivia instantly made the connection. Of course the same man would be involved. The Secretary would let few people close, and he seemed to trust this Brandon implicitly. If he could talk his way to her son, it made sense that he could talk his way into keeping certain portions of something they likely thought of as waste anyway.

With the barest hint of a smile, Lincoln added, “If it’s any consolation, I got to hit him. Hard.”

Faux-livia smiled at that and offered what sounded to be a genuine, “I missed you, Lincoln.”

Lincoln smiled back in a way that made Olivia question just went on while she was gone that was not listed in the mission reports she memorized upon her return. Broken protocols and saving lives were a troublesome enough thing to have on her record. Now she questioned if Lincoln’s newfound intense friendship was built upon her years working at his side, or yet another example of her doppelganger’s influence and misplaced charm. It seemed Faux-livia had hooked he talons in everything that had ever meant anything to Olivia. She glanced to her son and resisted the urge to grip onto him even tighter, even as she made herself a silent promise that this one thing would be hers and hers alone.

“I think I still owe you a thank you or three,” Lincoln said, interrupting Olivia’s thoughts. “Though I still can’t figure out how we did not realize you weren’t the real thing.” Olivia hoped he did not notice her relief at the comment when he turned to her and explained, “She even tried to convince us at first, told us she was from this side. The Secretary insisted she was just confused after the explosion. Any doubts were spackled over with a neat line of evidence to prove him right. We ignored the obvious because we were taught to trust him.” He glanced back over to the woman he once unknowingly worked with and said, “Let’s just say we have since learned to question things a bit more.”

Faux-livia smiled again, but anything else she had to say was cut off when her phone rang. Lincoln looked intrigued by the bulky contraption, but Olivia instead focused on just what was being said, and if it would have any effect upon their potential release. The words were familiar, yet not. Something about fluctuations and energy levels. It took her a moment to realize it was a potential Fringe event being discussed, just using simplified terms and techniques much like they did in the reports from nearly twenty years ago. They simply did not have the technology on this side to track and rate things in a precise and efficient manner as they never had the need to do so before now. It was almost nostalgic, if the early days of your universe falling apart were something to reminisce about.

Her suspicions were proven when her counterpart hung up the phone and explained to a waiting Peter, “That was Nina, they think found a potential tear. She is readying the Amber now, but doesn’t know if they will get there in time.”

Amber.

Tear.

It had begun.

This universe was about to go down the same road her own had decades before. Any thought of a potential safe haven for her and her son, no matter how ridiculous it really had been in the face of everything else, was once again about to be destroyed.

Not that she had much time to dwell on that as Henry’s drowsy eyes snapped open fully and he tensed and began to wail as though in physical pain. She took the precaution of taking a step away from Lincoln this time, even though it forced him to release his playful grip on her son, and then she searched for something to hold on to even though some part of her realized how futile that would be given the incredibly small likelihood something similar would be in place on the other side.

The disorientation surged and, for a moment, she was back in the park again. Gone were the children on the swings though and, instead, she caught a glimpse of the retreating backs of fellow Fringe agents, no doubt wrapping up their investigation of her previous appearance. She even swore she caught sight of a rather worried looking Charlie, right before she surged back into the little kitchenette, just in time to be caught by a very stubborn Lincoln as she was about to hit the floor.

“What the hell was that?” Peter demanded. He looked ready to leap up from his wheelchair, even though the act would likely cause him more pain than he would be willing to admit.

Faux-livia was at his side, hand on his shoulder to steady him, and looked similar to how Olivia herself felt. The narrowing of her eyes and curling of her fingers betrayed a headache, though that version was lucky enough not to have been torn between worlds and seemed much better off for it. She at least was able to form coherent sentences, and guessed what Olivia had a sinking suspicion was the truth, physical evidence or no: “The machine just turned back on.”

Olivia knew she needed to listen in and figure out what was going on, but the urge to pass out was nearly overwhelming. Too many journeys in too short of time. The stress on her body was finally catching up with her. She felt secure enough, steady enough where she was to let go, not that her body was going to give her much of a choice. Her head lolled back against Lincoln’s shoulder and she felt him wrap his arms around her that much more. Just before her world went black, she thought she heard him say, “Shh, it’s okay, Liv. I’ve got you. I’ve got you both.”

She next awoke atop a gurney, in a very similar position as to earlier. Henry still cried and she heard Lincoln insist, “Just let me hold him, that’s all he wants.”

Peter remained, as did Faux-livia, and they talked in hushed tones just to her right. He wanted to know how she could manage to work side by side with the man who had tried to slice her open when a single word would have made certain she never had to see him again. She insisted it was not worth it, that it was not the same man despite appearances, and that they needed top people working on the problem which, unfortunately, he was.

Olivia’s arms, far heavier than they had any right to be, curled up and around the fabric that held her child to her and his cries turned to gurgled sobs instead as she thought of what the man could have done to her son, and was thankful once more for their escape, even if it was to a completely different form of imprisonment. She heard Astrid ignore Peter and Faux-livia’s conversation to calmly tell Lincoln, “We’ve already told you why that is a bad idea.” She sounded like she was speaking to a stubborn toddler, and Olivia knew for herself what an apt comparison that could be when Lincoln got in a mood.

Walter was far more forthright and huffed, “You were nearly torn apart between the universes once already, do you really wish try again?” There was a pause, and something that sounded suspiciously like a straw sucking against the bottom of a cup before he added, “Besides, she’s awake now and he should be fine soon enough. Really, one would think no one had ever heard a crying baby before...”

There was a hand on her shoulder and she opened her eyes to find Lincoln’s worried face staring down at her. He was paler than he had any right to be, and the scratch at his temple seemed all the more livid for it. “Liv, are you all right?” he asked, and she wanted to pose the same question to him.

She did not get a chance to answer as Walter did so for her. “Of course she’s not all right. Multiple travels between universes in so short of a timespan is exhausting and possibly lethal if Belly is to be believed,” he chided.

“What happened?” she managed. Lincoln handed her a bottle of water and helped her sip its wonderful coolness as she waited for an answer.

“The machines have been activated again,” Walter confirmed somewhat unnecessarily. “There was a minor disturbance on this side, smaller even than before. It leads me to believe that they are not running at full power yet. Either that, or your son’s blood does not offer enough control for what your side wants to do to our side just yet.”

Despite the situation, and the overwhelming fatigue, Olivia managed a smirk. “Are you admitting he’s mine now?” she asked.

Walter waved his hand as though such things were irrelevant even though everyone else had been arguing the point such a short time before. He sucked on some blue icy concoction and replied, “The lab results confirm he is your child, and the child of Peter. They also confirm he was given a massive dose of something very near to what Belly and I called ‘Cortexaphan’ which is allowing for his newly enhanced abilities. Unfortunately, he was given only given it once and it has not built up in his bloodstream. In fact, due to an obviously flawed process, it is breaking down quite quickly. Soon enough, your son’s little wanderings will come to an end.”

“And what do we do then? Stay here?” Lincoln asked. He patted Henry’s back in a soft and soothing manner that threatened to put Olivia to sleep as much as it did the baby as the vibrations coursed through her as well.

“We’re not to that point just yet,” Walter insisted. “I want to run a few more tests. Unfortunately, I will need you both conscious and as a willing participant to do so,” he said, looking pointedly at Olivia.

She pushed aside her own exhaustion, and the remainder of the water, and asked, “What do you need me to do?” She did not have much going for her on either side right now – one wanted her dead and the other probably wanted her locked away for the rest of her life – but she was not selfish enough to sacrifice the rest of the world’s population just because she wanted something more.

Which is how she found herself standing in front of a massive machine of dark and familiar looking metal. Well, standing was not quite right as she had been relegated to a wheelchair once again, Lincoln at her side. Power coursed through her as it ebbed from the machine in tangible waves, the vibrations reverberating in her very blood. This was what was capable of destroying a universe. This is what was capable of possibly saving them all.

“Walter, you are not putting a baby in that thing,” Peter warned from his perch on a wheelchair of his own. Olivia was surprised he cared enough to say anything given that he had yet to even offer to hold his son.

“Walter,” Astrid said in her usual calming yet warning tone. “That thing threw Peter hard enough to given him a concussion and fractured ribs. A baby will not be strong enough to withstand that.” Olivia began to worry just what she had gotten herself, and Henry, into.

“Of course not,” Walter told her as though it were obvious. “I would never put a child at risk in that way. I want to hook him up remotely and see if we can match his brainwaves enough to force it to either open or turn itself off entirely.”

That sounded dubiously safer, or so Olivia hoped. She let Walter put some fancy contraption atop Henry’s head while she held and soothed him. Another blood sample was needed, but she okayed that as well as it was better than placing her son in an ancient and unknown machine. She winced and Henry wailed at the larger than necessary needle piercing his skin at the time, but Walter managed to have him cooing again within moments by performing some ridiculous song and dance routine that made Peter snort.

Walter flipped a switch with flourish and began to turn a lot of dials and key in a lot of information in a computer far fancier than most Olivia had seen on this side. She watched as the two lines formed on a screen and slowly synchronized, or at least tried to, and both felt and heard the machine surge at the new input.

Henry for his part was eerily calm ever since they entered the room. He stared at the machine and even reached out with one chubby little hand. Unfortunately, it seemed that reach signaled the end, and the abject failure, of the experiment.

“I don’t understand!” Walter insisted while he pulled at his hair. “This should have worked. The blood was scrubbed clean to match what they used, and we even tried variants of maternal contamination. It should have been a simple matter of matching the waves and controlling them!”

Olivia let him rant and she tried to lift the contraption off of her child. There was an odd tingle at her fingertips though and she watched as both green lines spiked and returned to just off of normal.

“Interesting,” Walter said, suddenly much quieter. Somehow, that filled her with more dread than anything else. “Try it on the mother,” he directed. He looked to Olivia and explained, “If it is picking up your input, it’s possible you are needed to counteract the contamination. Try it, please?”

She relented for the sake of saving the universe as much as the rare “please” that had been offered. Lincoln helped adjust the straps to fit the odd thing to her head, his face expressing doubts to match her own. The tingle was weird as it spread out across her forehead and temples, bordering on unpleasant though there was no actual pain. Walter made a few minor adjustments and flipped the switch and turned the dials and faint sensation grew to something more.

She saw lights and stars and possibly time itself. She could smell the earth and the air and the water that lay just outside the doors of the building they were currently housed in. There was another smell too, faintly singed like something was burning.

It was around that time that she felt hands on her face and the contraption forcibly yanked off of her head and reality crashed down upon her. She gasped out a breath she did not even realize she had been holding and pain coursed through her head and across her mind, centered at temples that felt hot and sensitive when she tentatively tried to touch them.

“I think we can count that as a disappointment,” Peter said, suddenly much closer. He looked concerned, but in an almost abstract way, and she could not tell if the concern was for her welfare of for the fact their universe was still at risk at being ripped apart and they were no closer to finding a way to stop it than they had been before.

Lincoln brushed her hair back out of the way and winced at whatever he saw, which likely meant visible burn marks. Given that he still sported bandages down both arms from his own cross-universe foibles, she was not reassured by his actions. The touch felt nice though, cool, and it seemed to grant her a tiny bit of the calm that Lincoln himself was trying his best to exude. She could not fault the effort, and there was no way she was going to refuse it if given the choice.

“What do we try now?” Broyles asked, sparing her only a cursory glance. She was fine, or fine enough, and if the countdown on the little clock to the side was to be believed, they had less than an hour until their next major Fringe event.

Walter began to pace. “We could try her blood mixed with the child’s, or to alter the DNA sequence of both, or-”

“We have forty-three minutes until we potentially lock an area of our world away forever in Amber,” Broyles reminded him, his voice an echo above the drone of the machine. “What are the chances of doing any of this in that time?”

Walter stopped and stared at him with wide eyes. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know,” he admitted. He immediately returned to his pacing while the rest of the room took in the fact their potential savior was well and truly at a loss save for Astrid who did her usual job of trying to soothe that savior with the promise of something called “Mike and Ike’s” if needed.

Faux-livia chose that moment to make an appearance and it was only then that Olivia realized the blonde had even disappeared. She was on her phone again, and was promising someone, probably Nina, that the Amber had not been needed this time, but that they needed to be ready to implement it at a moment’s notice, and likely within the hour.

It was then that something decidedly odd happened. The machine began to hum in a notably different frequency, and the top little line on Walter’s screen changed its pretty pattern.

Olivia looked around, but no one else seemed to make the connection. She knew the whole correlation does not imply causation mantra, but she also knew there were far too many coincidences with certain people for them to truly be coincidences. Especially when those certain people had the last name of Dunham.

“Maybe you should try this,” she suggested. She handed her the headpiece and watched as the second line briefly spiked, but returned to its null position soon enough. The first line skipped briefly, and then carried on merrily on its way.

Faux-livia stepped forward and gently placed the thing down on the table, discontinuing any connection and any potential research as she asked, “Why?” Doubt colored her tone, as though Olivia had somehow managed to sabotage the piece of machinery during her brief encounter.

“Call it a theory,” Olivia replied. She jerked her head towards the machine and asked, “Notice anything different?” She had the attention of the rest of the group now, and ignored the narrowed eyes from everyone born on this side of the divide, making a silent promise to key Lincoln in on her little theories next time because he looked well and truly confused, though far more trusting than the others.

As expected, the Faux-livia stepped closer for a better look. Safely behind the neat little yellow and black line, but far closer than before. It’s what she herself would have done without a second thought, and she counted on that similarity now.

Her counterpart cocked her head to the side as though she too could hear the change, or maybe even feel it, even though she had not been in the room at Henry’s testing. She took another step closer to the line, close enough for Peter to call her back, and that’s when it happened.

The hum did not silence, not fully, but it changed its pitch yet again as something even more important occurred: the machine opened.

Everyone in the room grew silent and all eyes were on the two Olivia’s as everyone else tried to work out what was going on. Lincoln had the least amount of patience apparently, as he was the first to ask, “What just happened?”

Olivia countered with a question of her own, but it was not directed towards her friend. She waited for Faux-livia to turn around to look her in the eye and asked, “When are you due?”

“I... what do you mean?” the blonde asked, and looked truly confused.

Olivia huffed a breath, her bangs feathering in the breeze the action caused and she tried to put into words what was really not much more than a feeling. “Look, I am not nearly as much into the scientific aspects of all of this as the rest of you are, but I’m not stupid,” she began. “I also know that none of you, expect perhaps Lincoln here, has any reason to trust a thing I say, but hear me out on this and then go run your tests to see if I am anywhere near close to what’s happening.”

“We can listen, but I can’t guarantee we will believe,” Broyles told her. The others remained relatively silent, but glanced around at each other with that whole unspoken thing that took her far too long to fall into step with during her visit. She synced up with Charlie and Lincoln in that way, but the Olivia on this side had her own nuances and own references that the rest of the team got without a word shared and it was a damn hard thing to fake.

She took a deep breath and hoped she did not sound like an idiot. “Both sides have machines, right? And they seem connected in some way which makes sense based on experiences with other dual events in both universes – one thing on one side effects one thing on the other if they happen to be in the right place at the right time.” She waited for the nods of agreement, and continued, “The Walter Bishop on my side started his machine and so yours started here. Peter was supposed to power the machine, whatever one he happened to choose, but the Secretary did not have Peter so he used the next best thing - that being Peter’s son Henry.”

Faux-livia raised her eyebrows at the name, which solidified in Olivia’s mind that yes, the cab driver had met her and likely helped her just as Lincoln had suspected. “If Henry’s blood was used, why did the machine accept it and why did it turn away the real Peter after it activated?”

Walter supplied the answer as she knew he would with, “The machine was likely given rough parameters for identifying Peter. Specific enough to realize it is him, but with enough variance to account for evolutionary and natural influences in the final product. Certain genetic sequences were needed for it to initialize, and those genetic sequences were present in Henry’s blood. Once started, the machine locked in on the remaining traits. If the sample was not pure, if it still held his mother’s contribution to his DNA, even just a single sequence, it may be searching for that to verify identity.”

“Then why was the child not enough now?” Astrid asked. She glanced between Walter and the clock that continued to tick down beside her, a silent reminder that they had a very limited window to find a solution to this latest problem.

“It could be that his body contains too much of his mother’s DNA to be recognized,” Walter theorized.

“Maybe it’s not what it contains, but what it doesn’t that’s important,” Olivia suggested, hoping they would pick up on her less than subtle hint.

The others looked at her blankly, but her counterpart followed her line of thought and said, “Cortexaphan.”

Olivia nodded and it was enough to send Walter off again. “Of course!” he crowed as though it had been his idea all along. “Their machine was disrupted when Peter tried to enter, so they tried a newer, cleaner sample to make it work again. Unfortunately for them, the only sample they would have would be whatever Brandon took, which would have been contaminated by the Cortexaphan hybrid he used on Henry!”

“That hybrid is breaking down,” Broyles pointed out. “The blood sample would no longer be similar enough to work.”

“Or, if it was, it is possible that a baby simply does not have the mental control needed to focus the machine in the way we need,” Walter amended. “Even if the machine still recognizes him, he simply is not capable of the task.”

Broyles nodded, but it was Peter who asked, “But why would it suddenly respond to Olivia when it never did before?”

Olivia turned to the other woman, who’s hand had drifted down across her abdomen and she knew she finally got it. “I was given Cortexaphan as a child, in repeated doses, and was given more when Walter tried to connect with the other side. It’s in my blood, always,” Faux-livia explained. She swallowed heavily and finished with what Olivia had been trying to get through before all the interruptions. “Which means it would be in the blood of my unborn child.”

“Liv?” Peter asked, and Olivia tried to ignore the hint of awe to his tone, or the way he near instantly rolled his chair to her side and linked his fingers with hers above her still flat stomach.

He had a child already; it just was not the child he wanted. Olivia sniffed at her own melodramatics. It was not the child Peter did not want, but the mother who birthed it and everything she represented. She supposed that, given a chance, Peter would take Henry and raise him and love him, so long as Olivia herself did not need to be in the picture. However, she knew Peter well enough by now to know he would not dare take a child from its mother, would not dare rip it away from those that loved it and could still provide for it if given the choice.

Peter loved Olivia, he just loved the wrong Olivia. He loved the version born and raised in the universe that had stolen and saved him, had done so even when the Olivia from his own side had crossed over to him. Olivia opened his eyes to the possibility of a relationship, and reaped the rewards in the form of her son. She had to return to her own side while Peter remained. Faux-livia returned and he had everything he wanted while Olivia was left with a broken universe and the knowledge that she would never be enough, at least not for him.

Before she could fall too deep into her melancholy, Lincoln offered another finger to Henry and asked, “But wouldn’t the closest match still be Henry? Or Liv with Henry if she were given this drug of yours?”

Walter shook his head. “Our trial results show far less success as the subject ages, as well as a need for a constant intake over time. She would need massive amounts of the drug and it would take weeks to fully build in her system. Even then, she has no training and no practice at the mental control that would be needed for this to work.”

“We don’t have weeks,” Broyles frowned.

“And I’m not sure I have the mental control even with what we’ve done so far,” Faux-livia admitted. Olivia tried not to snort at the knowledge that her doppelganger was not perfect. That made two things they agreed on now.

“You stopped a bomb,” Peter pointed out.

“I flipped out a few light bulbs,” she corrected. She looked up at the massive machine and sighed, “Somehow, I have the feeling this will take a little bit more.”

Broyles, as always, took charge. “Doctor Bishop, would the machine even be safe for her to use? Aside from the dangers of having my agent needlessly tossed down several stories and across the room, what would it do to her?”

“What would it do to any child she might be carrying?” Astrid asked, which was really the question on everyone’s minds.

“I truly have no idea,” Walter admitted. Before Broyles could demand a better answer, he defended himself with, “This is technology like we have never seen being used with variables far different from what little we do know it is supposed to rely on. There is simply too much we do not know!” His agitation was nearly as palpable as the waves from the machine, which told Olivia just how serious the situation was, even if she had not realized such a thing on her own by now.

“The only way to find out is to try,” Faux-livia shrugged with far too forced of calm.

She began to walk towards the machine again, but was stopped by her team. “At least let us put some padding in place?” Broyles tried with a hint of a grin.

“I can tell you from personal experience that it hurts like hell when there is none,” Peter helpfully supplied. Olivia tried not to roll her eyes.

Faux-livia smiled, quick and false, but stood her ground to let them do what they felt the need to do.

What they needed to do was to apparently add industrial padding where they could throughout the room and to test her blood for both Cortexaphan levels and the hormones that would indicate that she truly was pregnant, despite the pressing deadline. Olivia and Lincoln watched it all from the sidelines, keeping quiet so as to not draw attention to themselves and to be kicked away.

Keeping quiet proved to be a difficult thing indeed, especially when Peter would clutch at Faux-livia’s hand, or call her down to his seated level to whisper things that would grant her another worried smile and a lingering glance at where a new life likely grew. Olivia was startled when, during one of those little moments, Lincoln folded her hand between his own and promised, “I may not be Peter Bishop, but I’m here for you, Liv.”

On a whim, Olivia raised their join hands, just a fraction of an inch shy of her lips, and told him, “I know, and that’s more than enough for me.” The surprising thing was, as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized she meant it. That opened up a whole new realm of questions for her, none of which she felt the need to dwell upon while waiting to see if she would even survive long enough to discover their answers.

Finally, after several more likely unnecessary delays, the Olivia Dunham born in the world that had the greatest chance of surviving unscathed approached the machine once more. Astrid was at her side all the way to the little platform that would raise her to where the machine stood open and ready, and the Olivia from the losing world heard her ask, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“No,” she answered with a brutal honesty both shared. “But the other option is to watch two worlds get ripped apart at the cost of potentially thousands of lives. If this might potentially stop that, I have to do it.”

Olivia could not hear the rest of the conversation, especially considering she was too busy listening in on Broyles getting a report of yet another rift and the ever-industrious Nina preparing to Amber the area. He told them to hold for now, putting people and the fabric of his world at potential risk on the slim chance that his star of an agent would once again save the day. Olivia almost wished she was her counterpart, to have everything that made her so special and had Peter care about her so much, but then she remembered the reports she had to review for her mission, the hidden diary and the shoebox full of memories stuffed in a back closet that betrayed a life with far more hardships than she herself had been rewarded when her abusive stepfather mysteriously disappeared and her mother was offered a job at a high-tech aeronautical firm and everything else that eventually led her to being hand-picked by the Secretary to join the Fringe Division.

Lincoln squeezed her hand and drew her out of her thoughts. “Do you think it will work?” he asked.

“It has as good of chance as any,” she non-answered. She was not about to admit how much hope she had riding on this.

“Do you think we’ll be able to go home?” he asked next, fingers still curled around hers.

She snorted less than delicately. “To what, face the firing squad?” He laughed and released her and they both sat silently as they waited for their fate.

The truth was she kind of hoped to see her own universe, at least once more. This one may be far closer to whole, but it was much further away from home. She missed her mother, and Charlie, and wondered if they had been taken in for questioning by now and if they were paying the price for her pigheadedness.

The sound of the machine drew her attention, and she looked up to see her other self approach the opening. Peter winced as Faux-livia raised her hand to the side, and Olivia suspected exactly when things had gone wrong for him. There was no surge though, no tossing of the stubborn blonde agent to and fro, no flying across the room to crash into the padding liberally dispersed everywhere.

The other Olivia simply stepped into place and there was a solid click of noise as her ankles were caught in the machine’s grasp. She didn’t panic though, at least not outwardly though there was a fair chance her heartrate was more than a little increased. Instead, she raised her hands to the grips that awaited her and said simply, “Wish me luck?”

Olivia did, for at that one moment the woman before her was not her enemy, not someone who had everything she herself had ever wanted and more. She was instead the one thing that might just be able to stop the destruction of an entire world. If they were lucky, she might just do even more.

Olivia never did get to see the results though. As soon as the machine closed around the supposed savior, the feeling of vertigo returned. The world spun around her and Henry cried out from his place in her lap. Colors streamed by and she felt like she was flying with nothing tangible to hold on to. Something solid gripped her hand though, and she knew without looking that Lincoln was beside her, along for the ride as always.

When the rollercoaster ride began to slow, she swore she heard a voice, familiar as it was her own, tell her, “I tried to make things right, or at least as close to it as possible.” The colors became definitive shapes, blobs of nothingness became people who circled around her, clearing a space for her return. She heard Charlie swear, and Farnsworth list impossible probabilities, and then that same damningly knowing voice promised her, “You already have everything you need.”

The world crashed down around her and she tumbled to the floor, strong arms supporting her and cradling her as close. She looked up to find it was Lincoln holding her tight, and then down to find Henry cushioned and protected between them, still strapped to her in the mess of fabric and buckles.

Hands were on her, and they pulled and they pushed until she was forced out of her comfort. It took her a moment to realize it was only to be lifted upright, propped into a sitting position that she wavered from until Lincoln and Charlie shored her up once more.

“Liv?” Charlie asked. She blinked to bring him into focus and realized they had been deposited back in the middle of Fringe headquarters, her friends and family surrounding her.

“Hi, Charlie,” she said for lack of anything better. She doubted she would be conscious for much longer anyway.

“What the hell just happened?” he demanded. He didn’t seem upset though, more relieved than anything. Of course, that was when the alarms began to blare.

Fringe events everywhere, growing in escalation. Farnsworth pulled them up on the screen but refused categorize the disaster level. Charlie asked again, and again, and finally, she pulled up an image of the Opera House in all its Ambered glory. Only it wasn’t Ambered anymore, not completely. The familiar yellow-orange was seeping away, withdrawing to reveal life and stability beneath it.

Lincoln pulled her to him and kissed her temple. “She did it!” he enthused. “It’s actually working!”

Astrid changed the screen to show multiple views at once, and they watched as the gold faded and shrunk, people who had been frozen in time stumbling forward and coming alive after far too long of an absence. Olivia tried to take it all in, even as the blackness crept in along the edges of her vision. As she finally gave in to the inevitable, part of her took comfort in the fact that the name Olivia Dunham would go down in the history books as a savior, even if it was the wrong Olivia for this world.

 

 **Epilogue:**

Olivia walked down the sterile hallway, Henry securely on her hip and Lincoln securely at her side. It had been a week since their return to this reality and much had been discovered during that time.

The fix was not perfect, there would be people and places lost forever and shrines of Amber for their memorials, but the overwhelming feeling of threat and death and destruction had been abated, at least for now. The Fringe Division was still going strong as they needed to reincorporate the survivors back into society, and there was always the threat of the Amber failing or something else going horrifically wrong, but there was at least hope, and that was enough for now.

“Did he say what he wanted?” Olivia asked Lincoln out of the corner of her mouth.

“How should I know? He says come, we come,” Lincoln replied. Then, with a smile, he added, “Maybe we should ask Henry; his grandfather cannot deny him anything.”

Olivia’s laugh was cut off by the clearing of a throat, and then the Secretary appeared from around the corner with an expression of suppressed amusement. “And how is my grandson today?” he asked. He held out his arms to take him and, even though Olivia still feared letting him go after all this time with nary a single flicker or threat of a jump across universes, she handed him over as, like Lincoln said, the Secretary always got what he wanted.

The tests had shown that the Cortexaphan had been nearly fully metabolized by Henry’s blood and the Secretary was adamant that he would not receive another dose ever again. Not that he had completely given up on that research. For those who had received doses of the unstable compound, they were still receiving regular care and were tested at any and all opportunities to see just what they were capable of and just how long those capabilities lasted.

There was also one new subject to the experiments, a certain scientist who was found unconscious in his own lab, a damning tablet of information and video feed sealing his fate. Olivia tried not to think of him in his prison grays, strapped down helpless to a table while new and interesting chemicals were pumped into him, tried not to think of how he would likely suffer the way he had made countless others – including her son and her alternate – suffer before. She found it an easy enough task, especially when Lincoln distracted her with dinner.

It was not to that lab that they traveled now. Instead, it was through a series of secured doorways to a simple white room that was empty save for a desk and the two items it held. The old style typewriter sat in the center, and the mirror just off to the side. She looked at them quizzically, and then over to where the Secretary was playing peek-a-boo with her son.

He paused long enough to explain, “It is a message for you. I thought you may wish to read it firsthand.”

She nodded and stepped around the desk to see what awaited her. It was a note; short, simple, and to the point: “Hopefully this is close enough for you.”

She thought back to Walter and his explanation of the machine, of his theories of an infinite number of universes and an infinite number of possibilities within those universes. He pictured it was a fractal with the branches stemming off from a single point in time. Peter had theorized that point would depend on when his Olivia stepped into the machine. Walter had theorized the split began when Peter first tried to access his fate and was denied.

She thought they were both wrong. There were two universes and so there were two points. One was Peter and his attempt at the machine, and the other was when Henry’s newly altered blood first touched the machine on this side.

“Ours is but one reality. Every action, every choice, creates an infinite road of possibilities,” Walter had told her. She looked to Henry, and then to the ever-indulgent Lincoln, and was determined create the best reality she could.

 

End.


End file.
